Canopus
by kiiroi yumetobu
Summary: Sitting next to him like this, with the faint weight of the archer's arm against his own and only their shy awkwardness between them, Ichigo wonders what it could possibly be that made 'them' happen… Ichiuri, oneshot, some smut.


A/N: I started writing this fic early 2010. It's sad, right? Luckily, Sisyphean Effort kindly read what little I had and told me off for leaving it for so long, so I got off my ass and tried to finish this. Thanks, dear! The journey was oftentimes like dragging a boulder up a mountain, so it took a little sweat and blood…

I wanted my second Bleach fic to surpass the first in quality, but the end product leaves much to be desired… ahh! Nonetheless I'll be happy if this fic provides you some entertainment.

Note: Canopus is the second brightest star. From my area its red, white and blue flashing colours are the most distinctive out of all of them.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, & c.

This one is for you, S.E. dear!

* * *

><p><strong>Canopus<strong>

12:00. The number glows a neon green in the monochromatic confines of the room. Clocks like these have two displays: analogue and digital. That much we know. But why is it that some people automatically choose the first over the latter?

Ichigo Kurosaki ponders upon this arbitrary question as his sight roams aimlessly across his surroundings. They have become cold and alien as the natural light died away. 0:00. He realises that he dislikes this number, this triple affirmative-nor-negative that sounds like the thunk, thunk, thunk of a wooden hammer as it swings through the air and lands like footsteps of the undead. It is the mystical hour of the things that go bump at "night" –this couldn't get any truer for the young shinigami who currently waits for their shrill call to impregnate the cool, solid air.

At one minute past double zero, it comes. Ichigo claps the badge at his bedpost to his chest and his shinigami form rises from the bed with unhurried efficiency. There is the dull shh-thunk of the closing window, the flap of fabric as he leaps into the outside light, and the absence of breathing and heartbeat in his empty body that now lays in a sprawl on a lukewarm bed.

* * *

><p>The thing is slashed in two and drunk up by the night with unspectacular speed. Ichigo sighs as he rests his zanpakuto on his shoulder. Not far away, the other one had also been extinguished without hesitation, like a wick between moistened fingertips. He strides, as if weightless, through the air to perch on the top of a lamp post. Its previous black-winged occupant squawks indignantly and makes a noisy retreat to a nearby tree.<p>

Tonight's moon is a giant pearl, sitting low on a horizon of weathered rooftops. He squints through the milky but nevertheless eye-stinging light, at the white form zipping gracefully through the air, an unearthly ivory eagle adorning the murky and starless navy curtain. Ichigo sheathes his sword and turns around as the shape comes to a halt on the top of the opposite lamp post.

"I'll have you know, you didn't beat me to finishing off the hollow, Kurosaki," the newcomer insists out of habit, "I just decided to let it give chase for a bit."

Ichigo rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Usually most people greet each other with a good-evening, Ishida."

"You know that I don't like to classify myself as 'most people'," is the curt reply.

"In some sense I could take that as a self-inflicted insult," Ichigo points out triumphantly, causing the quincy to narrow his sapphire eyes.

"Oi, let's go sit on the roof or something instead of this, it makes me feel isolated."

Ishida raises an eyebrow at the suggestion but follows the shinigami anyway.

They pick a spot overlooking the city to settle down, with the moon looming overhead like a huge china dish.

"Don't you want to go home and catch up on sleep?" Ishida asks.

"Yeah, but… it's not often we get to spend time alone together." The words come out from the orange-haired teenager's mouth without embarrassment or anxiety, delivered as naturally as air –as if he has been practicing the line for his whole life.

His honesty makes Ishida nerve-tinglingly uncomfortable; because it constantly tells him how amazingly _fortunate_ he is. He doesn't allow himself to take it for granted.

"So what, you decide to lure me here to moon-gaze? I didn't know you were such a sap," the other scoffs, looking down to hide the dusky pink that now adorns his cheeks.

"What –you're such a hardass, Ishida! Can't you just –

He stops when he notices the boy tugging at the cuffs of his white shirt self-consciously, and grins. He shifts closer to brush shoulders with the quincy.

"So, is calling me a sap and being cynical about everything your way of _flirting_ with me?"

Ichigo's fingertips cautiously spider their way towards Ishida's clenched right hand.

He almost flinches as Ishida snaps his head up to glare at him.

"How is calling a guy who still uses elementary school dating tactics a sap _flirting_?" the quincy belatedly bites back.

"Com'on, that's _totally_ different from the yawn move. Is it fun for you to always spoil the mood?"

"I'm just saying, if you want to do something, then just _do _it without beating round the bush."

"Yeah, if I do that then you'd say I'm being a pushy and insensitive dickhead."

Ichigo waits for a comeback, but the other boy says nothing. He sighs and looks up at the ivory orb before them –it seems to be laughing at their idiocy.

He would very much like to say that anybody who finds themselves in an intimate relationship with Uryuu Ishida would need to be _extremely _patient to put up with his caustic habits of speech. But, unfortunately, that mannerism of Ishida's seems to be reserved just for dealing with him.

It is no wonder that originally Ichigo thought that the contemptuous teenager hated him to his guts, and that the bite in his words served to warn him to keep his distance. But as the initial animosity between them grew increasingly superficial and pointless, Ichigo began to realise that perhaps, the quincy didn't _really _hate him after all.

He tries not to smile as he glances at the teenager beside him (lest the boy notices and starts to make smart comments again), who observes their slumbering town like a dutiful nightwatchman. Sitting next to him like this, with the faint weight of the archer's arm against his own and only their shy awkwardness between them, Ichigo wonders what it could possibly be that made 'them' happen…

* * *

><p>It was Keigo's birthday.<p>

Which meant a lot of booze, a lot of dubious party-food cooked by Orihime, and a lot of porn with a ginormous-breasts focus for when the girls have gone home.

Ichigo wanted to grab the redhead by the shoulders, shake him and shout, why, _why_ for the love of God had he invited _Ishida_ along, because the previous night the shinigami and quincy had fought over the same hollow which naturally resulted in a spectacular lyrical warfare that persisted and only intensified over the school day.

Ishida obviously wanted no part in the celebration, and even Keigo's irritatingly melodramatic, insistent persuasions couldn't budge his resolution. It was only when Orihime stepped in, backed by a gentle giant in the form of Chad, that the raven begrudgingly accepted.

And so, at five past seven, the party found themselves scattered about Keigo's living room, feasting on pizza, chow mein, sushi and hot chips while tactfully avoiding the unidentifiable greyish-purple dish at the centre of the coffee table.

Thankfully, Keigo still had some sense in that brain of his to put on a good comedy while they ate, to offer diversion to those who were less-inclined to conversation (which was pretty much just Ishida, but coincidentally Chad seemed to be drawn to the cute little critters that popped up every now and then in the movie).

Ichigo pretended to be interested in Mizuiro and the birthday boy's chat about a new rock band, and occasionally made non-committal interjections of 'hmm's and 'ahh's into the girls' conversation about God-knows-what.

_Actually_, he was more interested in watching Ishida out the corner of his eye, who, seated next to Chad on the sofa, was digging into his plate of sushi and stir-fried noodles. To Ichigo's relief, the bespectacled teenager seemed comfortable enough for someone who had been more or less dragged to a party. He was also not one to pass on free food, especially if it was at Keigo's expense (that was how he initially lured Ishida to lunch with them, at any rate.)

The young archer was always refined and elegant about nearly everything he did, and eating was no exception. In the rare opportunity to surreptitiously observe Ishida's eating habits, Ichigo's dark-copper eyes followed the flicks of the slim white wrist, the adroit command of the long fingers as they curved and flexed against wooden chopsticks, the gentle bobble of his Adam's apple as chewed-up food slid down a contracting oesophagus hidden beneath a pale, gorgeous throat. And as Ishida delivered the food to his parted lips- the red-haired teen could barely stop himself from looking at that mouth. He secretly wished that someone would offer the raven some pizza so that he could watch him get _messy_, to find out if Ishida would suck those lascivious, grease-covered digits into his mouth before he reached for a napkin.

Ichigo promptly turned back to his own plate of food, his brain flashing with red, warning signals –getting a hard-on in front of everybody at a birthday party was probably not a good idea, even if he wasn't one for coming up with good ideas in the first place. His stomach was churning with a different sort of hunger as he dispassionately sent a salmon-topped sushi into his mouth. It wasn't like the quincy didn't hate him enough already: he didn't want to give Ishida another reason to treat him like a mushed-up piece of faeces stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

He never planned to develop these sorts of feelings for Ishida. They met on entirely disagreeable terms, and even when the original source of his animosity was resolved, the archer seemed to be perfectly happy to maintain a cold temperament towards him. Together they had been through many life and death situations that Ichigo did not care to recall, and they had changed from being enemies, to comrades, to something akin to friends. Every time that the quincy got shot down and came back up again –each time stronger and more determined than the last –Ichigo found himself admiring the resilience and sometimes crippling self-sacrifice beneath that aloof exterior: qualities that ran innate in his own veins. He found himself transfigured by the grace in his movements, the indivertible willpower in his striking eyes when he fought. When his admiration grew into something different, something that made him wake up in the middle of the night with Ishida's name on his lips, something that made him steal looks at the raven for all the wrong reasons and at all the wrong places, he blamed it on hormones. Yet, when Ishida unconsciously became someone that he would give everything to protect, he eventually surrendered to the truth: he had fallen, and he had fallen hard.

Ishida had every reason to refuse him, if his father's order to "never associate with shinigamis" wasn't explicit enough (Ichigo didn't want to imagine what kind of person Ishida's father was). He tried to tell himself to give up his fruitless pursuits of the introverted teenager, to divert his attention to girls, to focus only on his flaws –and of that Ishida had many –but his heart had set itself on him and refused to budge. It was as if God had decided to play a tasteless joke on him, putting him on a catapult and flinging him towards what might as well be a brick wall.

"Ichigoooooooo!" Keigo's nasally whine jerked him out of his reveries. "Are you listening to me?"

He looked up, disguising his surprise with a signature frown. "What is it?"

"You didn't hear a _word_ that I was saying for the last five minutes?" the brunette accused, pointing a greasy pair of chopsticks at his face. "Even though you kept answering me with _hmms_! That's rude!"

"Hmm," Ichigo replied, filling his mouth with more stir-fried noodles.

"GYAAAH! Did you hear that, Mizuiro? Ichigo doesn't love me anymore!" Keigo cried, leeching onto the shorter boy who patted his back in sympathy.

Ichigo felt his hands twitching with the need to give Keigo a _friendly_ reminder to pipe down, but after all, it was his classmate's birthday, and they were holding the party at his house. Keigo's rather volatile older sister saved him from the trouble, though: she popped into the room, lovingly holding Keigo in a headlock while offering everyone beer –with no consideration that with the exception of Rukia, they were all underage.

When most of the food was gone, as well as a fair amount of beer (really, who could refuse?), they moved onto a marathon of video games. Amusingly, Chad, Orihime and Rukia were complete klutzes, while Tatsuki put her martial-art skills to good use by completely trashing Keigo with an impressive 3-0. Ishida reluctantly agreed to a game of tennis on Wii, and when he collided with Ichigo on a particular move, gave him a death glare that positively sent cold shivers up his spine. Next, the busty red-head and Mizuiro graced everyone with a performance of a rap-slash-R&B number, complete with a dance routine. Orihime was surprisingly adept at keeping her rhythm despite her hilariously unconvincing attempt of a raspy, seedy low voice, while Mizuiro's falsetto and salacious interpretation of pole-dancing left everyone gasping for breath between bouts of laughter. Even the usually quiet Chad and the no-nonsense Ishida couldn't help but add their own full-bodied roar and melodious tenor to the cacophony of infectious happiness that bounced around the walls.

As the song ended with a gradual decrescendo, the unusual duo gave tawdry bows in response to the applause, jeers and shouts of _"Encore!"_

"Sorry darlings," purred Mizuiro, "only the first number is free."

Tatsuki whistled. "Then turn around so I can stuff some notes into your G-string!"

"Hey, how'd you know I was _wearing_ one?" he said, feigning surprise.

"Mizuiro-kun seems more like the type to not wear _any_," offered Orihime with a giggle. "What was it called again…?"

To everyone's surprise, Ishida was the one who replied.

"My area of expertise is in textiles, not the _lack _thereof, but I believe the term was going commando," he said in his regular textbook-delivery style.

The quincy actually looked bewildered when everyone laughed at his deadpan answer.

"Let's keep the conversation _out _of Mizuiro's pants, guys," Ichigo called, "how about we bring out the presents before Keigo starts sulking?"

"Sorry to steal the limelight from you, _Keigo-sama_," the dainty raven grinned as he reached over to grab his wrapped package, "please accept this humble gift as an apology."

"I'll think about forgiving you after I see what it is that you have bought me, hmm?" the brunette maintained while he tore open the present.

The usual awkward silence that came with waiting for the birthday girl or boy to unwrap all their gifts was avoided by a game of 'guess-what-the-present-is' –and naturally most of those guesses involved women with ample breasts.

He ended up receiving CD's, an elegant stationary set, and a few very suitably printed t-shirts (one handmade by Ishida, of course).

When he came to the final present, it turned out to be a board game.

And not just _any _board game, bless Rukia –it was titled '_Spin and Flip –the Ultimate Drinking Game for Irresponsible Adults'._

The audience instantly responded with expressions ranging from mild interest to downright dread.

"Okay, where the _hell _did you get that?" Ichigo groaned.

"I dunno, some dodgy looking street in Shibuya," Rukia replied, looking damn pleased with herself.

"O-M-G, we should, like, totally play this right now," Keigo said in an over-enthusiastic squeal.

"No, like, we totally _shouldn't_," the substitute shinigami warned.

"This is the kind of game that always ends in a list of very attractive blackmail material," provided Chad quietly. "And tears, broken relationships or even potential death, according to some websites."

"And therein lies the _fun_," Mizuiro unhelpfully explained before Ichigo could say '_exactly'._

"I want to see what it's like, too," Rukia piped up.

"Might be interesting," Orihime agreed cheerfully.

"I have no problem with it as long as we censor out the hardcore stuff," said Tatsuki with a shrug.

"Ishida? Chad?" Keigo asked.

"… I suppose I'll watch and participate where appropriate," Ishida answered uncertainly, while the stocky brunette simply nodded in resigned assent.

Obviously not expecting any of that, Ichigo's once smug face dissolved into a disbelieving blanch.

"It's six against one, Ichigo," Mizuiro pointed out, "don't be a spoil-sport!"

He couldn't very well say no.

"I _swear_, you guys are going to regret this for the rest of your lives."

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later, Ichigo found himself correcting his previous statement.<p>

It wasn't _them _who were going to regret this for the rest of their lives; it was _him_ who was going to regret this for the rest of his life.

The reason for this change of mind took the form of Ishida's crotch which was swaying a few inches away from his face to the sultry beat of Keigo's 'top sexy tunes' collection.

The game had started innocently enough: they moved their pieces down the board, swigging shots (Keigo's sister, again) where the red squares indicated, and did as the penalty cards instructed. Chad ended up knocking on the neighbour's door to ask for tampons, Tatsuki 'misdialled' to a pizza-delivery house to sell Viagra, Mizuiro admitted to having 'fantasies' of his sixth-grade English teacher and Keigo ended up making out with a magazine clipping of the finance minister. And that was only the start of it, before most of them got so dead drunk that any sense of dignity and propriety became distant memory.

Of course, there was a fair passage of time between then and now, but that was pretty much why Ichigo currently found himself with a sexy lap-full of inebriated quincy.

It seemed that the spinning board was not particularly fond of the archer: in the last few hours he had downed four shots already, spurred on by his goddamn quincy pride and the _way too _encouraging cheers of some of his peers. Rukia and Orihime had long since passed out by the corner of the room, mumbling at random intervals about bunnies and _avant garde _recipes before Keigo's sister cheerfully dragged them to bed. Tatsuki was intermittently dozing off, Keigo had been reduced to a giggling, ignorant mess and Ichigo himself was moderately tipsy. This left him with an audience of an only slightly flushed Mizuiro (the bastard was a beast hidden in the shell of an innocent kid) and Chad, whose large body processed the alcohol fairly quickly before it could really get to him.

These were his two best friends, who 'coincidentally' both knew of his secret crush on the archer; one of whom would no doubt jump at the chance to play matchmaker. So when Ishida's penalty card revealed itself as 'Give one player of your choice a lap dance', the cupid-faced schemer immediately suggested, "Ishida-kun, I'm sure that Ichigo over there wouldn't mind one, would he?"

"Why… why him?" the other raven asked in a drunken slur. Looking as if he wanted to say something else but forgot the words, he turned to Ichigo with the most peculiar and cutest expression that made his planned expression of vehement denial die on his tongue.

"Because our dear Keigo looks like he can't even stay seated on a chair," Mizuiro explained carefully while shoving the cross-legged and happily gurgling brunette onto his back. "And Tatsuki-chan might react violently if she thought you were trying to make a move on her, right Tatsuki-chan?"

"Make… make a move," the girl grunted back, "I'll… rip your fucking _balls _off…"

The raven turned back to Ishida with a 'there we go' look on his face.

"Moreover," he continued, "Chad-kun is too tall, and I'm too short. It just wouldn't _look _right, do you get me? But Ichigo is _just _the right height."

"Just… just the right height," the archer repeated in awe, as if Mizuiro had just explained to him the origins of the Big Bang.

"No. Oh nononono_no_," Ichigo interjected, fumbling for the right words in his semi-intoxicated brain, "you are _sensible_ young adult, Ishida! Think carefully before you act! And don't listen to _anything_ that Miyu… Miu… _whatshisface_ says!"

"He means that it's a _bad idea_," came the smooth baritone of Chad.

"Oh _hush_, you nuns!" the shorter raven sighed as he threw an arm around Ishida. "Seriously, they're just trying to confuse you, Ishida-kun. Ichigo might act all anal about it but actually, he'll cry if you don't do it! See, he's all teary now."

The strawberry blond growled as the second half of the conversation failed to reach his ears –he only saw Mizuiro whispering, and the archer's delicate brows furrowing briefly before he walked –staggered –over to the fold-up chair where he sat.

Ichigo swallowed, frozen in his seat while the slim teenager planted his hands on his shoulders, almost straddling him and turning his characteristic obsession with preserving his personal space completely on its head. His nostrils were filled with the scent of vodka and maple and _Ishida_, his perception of colour momentarily invaded by the singular, gem-like sapphire of the quincy's eyes.

_Wait, where were his glasses?_

Out the corner of his vision he saw Mizuiro squinting through the missing spectacles whilst fiddling with the Ipod dock; suddenly, his ears were assaulted by the familiar pulse of one of Keigo's tasteless (but catchy), raunchy R&B's.

And he did _not_ just give him a 'someone's getting laid tonight' thumbs up.

A blur of white made him shift his attention back to the too-close archer in front –or on top of –him, who breathed in slowly as if trying to inhale the music itself, and began to sway his hips experimentally.

"Go, I-shi-da-!" Keigo cheered from the ground (although he probably didn't even know what he was looking at). Mizuiro whistled, while Tatsuki simply sniggered.

Chad sighed and made a gesture closely resembling the so-called 'face-palm': it seriously _hurt _to watch. Raising his head at Ichigo's small, choking noise, the muscular teenager decided that it was the least he could do give them some privacy –and so he hoisted the birthday boy over one shoulder while ushering the other girl upstairs.

"Don't let them go _too _far," he whispered to Mizuiro as he walked pass. "I don't want them to get hurt, you know?"

His classmate smiled, clapping him gently on the back. "Me either. I'll be a responsible chaperone, don't worry."

"Not sure if _chaperone_ is the right term," mumbled Chad as he went off.

"H-HEY! _Where _are you…" Ichigo lowered his voice again, the sentence left unfinished as he blinked up at the quincy. Ishida was rolling his hips, the sensuality of the movement only heightened by his drug-influenced imbalance.

Tousled dark hair framing the delicate face, flushed porcelain skin, the slim, perfect, gyrating body: the raven was irresistible enough on a regular basis, but now he was the epitome of _sex_.

_Where did a geeky goody-two-shoes like him learn to _dance _like that?_

Ichigo had to remind himself that they weren't the only ones in the room before he found the voice to continue (in a comical croak): "Where are they going?"

The archer squinted at him, looking like he was having trouble understanding his question. "Don't… I don't know. You… Ku-Kurosaki… (he made the sexiest growl of frustration) you're distracting me!"

Ichigo quickly looked away, his face flushing as the growl went _straight _to his groin.

"Mizu... iro... Where is that evil prick..." he hissed.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me!" Mizuiro called gleefully before ducking behind the wall.

"YOU! You-

"Kurosaki?" Ishida interrupted.

The strawberry turned back to him, his skin prickling when he looked straight into those piercing blue eyes again.

"You don't want… don't want me here. That it?" the young man said, the accusation in his voice ruined by a petulant grimace. "you… want m-me to go away, ishdat it?"

Ichigo didn't have time to wonder if this was actually _Ishida _talking –the cool, independent Ishida who only ever expressed indifference or irritation or anger: the raven's head was nodding, his breath becoming increasingly shallow as his hands started to slide off his shoulders.

_So much for a lap dance –not that he was _supposed _to be feeling disappointed…_

"No, of course not!" said the shinigami whilst he leapt up to steady the quincy. "I just don't want you to do anything that you might regret tomorrow."

"Y-you're a liar. A stupid, idiotic liar…" Ishida mumbled, sagging like an emptying sack in his arms. Ichigo rolled his eyes and heaved him towards the double seater, dumping him there with the delicacy of bailing hay. The archer always talked too much when he was trying to prove a point as it is, but it seemed that the alcohol was failing to impair his verbal skills despite impairing everything else.

"You need to shut up and get some rest," he prescribed to the softly groaning boy. Wiping the bangs off his forehead, the breath caught in his throat when Ishida sighed and pressed his heated cheek against his palm.

"Are you stb… still a-angry at me, Ku-Kurosaki?"

"You mean by last night?" he specified, cautiously sweeping his hand into the midnight hair. Ishida's eyelids fluttered, and he nodded.

"No –I'm not. It was a stupid argument," Ichigo said. "I'm sorry it happened."

"My fault," Ishida corrected, frowning. "It was me… being… over… o-overe… what?"

"Overreacting?"

"Mmm. But it's good –you're not… angry. I was worried…"

"About what?"

Ichigo knew it was unfair to manipulate the archer into saying things he wouldn't usually say –but he couldn't help himself. Not when he was so pliant like this, leaning into his touch like an affectionate family cat.

"You might hate me."

"Hate you?"

The substitute shinigami leaned closer, struggling to hear his whispered, faltering lines. It was like speaking to a sleepy, overgrown three-year-old.

"I –don't want you to… to hate me."

Ichigo chuckled at the words. "I don't. I'd never. I thought_ you _were the one who hated _me_."

The raven shook his head sternly, the motion leaving him giggling. "Ku-kurosa… why –why'd you have t-two heads?"

He puffed out a sound crossed between a sigh of frustration and a laugh –intoxicated Ishida or no, it certainly _took _two heads to deal with him. "So you _don't _hate me."

"Mm… what a silly question, Kuro… saki. 'Course not," sighed the teenager. The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips following the reply, the beauty of it striking straight to Ichigo's heart.

"It's funny," Ichigo said softly, "you'll probably never say _anything _like this if you were sober. You won't even remember it when you wake up."

Ishida looked confused –offended. "That's n-not fair. I have –have a better memory than… than anybody."

"I know, and it's also _selective_."

"Then remind me… tomorrow…"

The boy's head drooped, his eyes only a glint of misty blue-black.

"Ishida? "

His lips barely moved, but he heard it –the softest of whispers before Ishida became dead to the world. "Won't forget… I promise."

Ichigo tossed his head back with an exhausted, confused grunt.

So the archer didn't hate him –but what did that meant? That they were associates? That they were friends? Why would he go out of his way to apologize just because he didn't want to be hated, if he always acted like he wouldn't give a crap about how anyone else felt about him?

_Why did it have to take four shots of cheap spirits to get Ishida to just _talk _to him?_

"Earth to Ichigo," a voice whispered by his ear.

The shinigami only just refrained from shrieking in shock as he whipped around to meet the broadly grinning face of Mizuiro.

"Fuck, you scared the _shit _out of me!" he hissed, easing himself out of his crouch.

"By the way that you were staring at the ceiling, I'd be surprised if you don't end up with permanent creases between your eyebrows by the time you're twenty," his classmate humoured.

Ichigo glared and said, "You were _eavesdropping_? Do you _seriously _want me to make sure that you never live to see another sunset?"

"Your death threats are so _generic, _Ichigo_… _and _no_, I was watching the clock and returning to the premises at the approximate time that Ishida-kun would fall asleep. According to statistics and experience."

"Why don't you invest your time in gaining experience in something more practical, such as why you shouldn't put stupid ideas into drunk peoples' _heads_?"

"It wasn't a stupid idea –I thought it might be enjoyable for the two of you," Mizuiro shrugged, pulling a duvet over Ishida's sleeping form. "You kind of need a little push if you want to _go _anywhere at a pace like yours."

Ichigo grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him to a safer distance.

"_Why _are you always under the impression that this is a two-way thing?" he snapped. "What if Ishida wakes up the next morning and refuses to ever even _look _at me again?"

Mizuiro's smile dissolved into a flat, concerned line. "Ichigo, I care about you, okay? So does Chad-kun. I don't want to just sit here and watch you dodge your feelings and refusing to take a chance. That's not what you do."

Ichigo raked a hand through his unruly hair, heaving a sigh. "I know –I _know_. Thanks for looking out for me, but it's a dead end. Ishida won't –it's… it's impossible. Just drop it, right?"

"Ask him," the raven said flatly, crossing his arms.

"_What_?"

"Ask him about it tomorrow!" he said, voice echoing in the narrow staircase as he turned away to walk upstairs.

Ichigo watched the raven's shadow slide and morph on the wooden steps, hesitant.

Mizuiro draped his body across the railing and added sweetly, "or _I _will."

The redhead's mouth dropped, and he quickly followed him.

"I will _seriously _make sure that you never live to see another sunset –

* * *

><p>When he came to, Ishida swore that there were fifty un-tuned timpani's banging away in his head. The early morning sunlight had crept into the room, in an off-white band between the curtain and floor. He rubbed at the grit in his eyes, groaning as his pounding head tried to get it bearings. Slowly the previous night's events came back to him: <em>ah, he had been dragged to Keigo's party and then he had passed out. <em>The details after which he couldn't for the life of him recall.

Squinting at the bottom of the TV cabinet he fathomed that he was still in the living room where he had fallen asleep, but someone had the courtesy to move aside the coffee table to lay out a futon for him. Although it smelt of an unfamiliar home and also faintly of mothballs, he was more than thankful for the softness and warmth as opposed to the cramped couch or the hard ground. It took a lot of will to slip an arm out of the heavenly cocoon, so that he could swipe his hand around the floor for his glasses. He was surprised when a slightly rough, warm hand closed over his, turning it over to place the spectacles into his palm.

"How're you feeling?"

The voice was quiet, rough-edged from fatigue and hangover, but Ishida could tell that it was none other than Ichigo's.

_Great, waking up in someone else's house whilst probably looking worse than a bum, right in front of _him_ to boot._

Ishida answered in an interpret-this-for-yourself grunt, delaying visual acknowledgement as much as possible while he clumsily guided the glasses to his head. Frowning in mild repulsion at the greasy fingerprints all over the lens, he took them off again and placed them on the side.

He was too groggy and sick to refuse as Ichigo leaned forward to help him sit up –the room spinning vaguely around him as he did so.

"Thanks," he said, chancing a glance in his caretaker's direction. The substitute shinigami was still in his navy jeans and red 'converse' t-shirt, both of which were crumpled to the point of inspiring Ishida's OCD urges. Obviously the boy didn't have a good night's sleep either and was also suffering from last night's carousing, and if the bruises beneath his brown eyes looked _that _severe then Ishida himself probably looked absolutely horrendous.

"Have you ever been this drunk before?" the teenager asked him cautiously.

"Huh?" _What a weird question. _"Well… probably not. If I had, I would've had the common sense to never do it again."

He winced at his voice that sounded like sandpaper against cement, and he tried to work some moisture into his mouth despite the fact that it tasted like a dehydrated mass graveyard.

"God, I'm _parched_ –I need to go get some water –

Unwisely making the move to stand up, the next merry-go-round spin came with no warning and left him reeling, the sensation accompanied by an acute wave of nausea.

Ichigo quickly reached out to steady him –

–Ishida bit down against the sour sting of bile

And then an uncontrollable mouthful of last night's dinner plus stomach juice was spurted onto the front of Ichigo's shirt.

Ishida paled at the horrible mess he made as well as the onslaught of more vomiting, but he had no time to apologize as a bucket was thrust under his chin, a handy replacement for a sink or toilet seat.

Ishida grasped the bucket and, for what felt like an eternity, puked and puked and _puked. _The pain made his vision swim and his eyes water, and the phrase 'I am _never _doing this to myself ever again circled in his mind.

To his surprise, the pair of big, warm hands slipped into his hair, holding back his fringe as he emptied his stomach. The fingertips vaguely circled his scalp in slow motion, and Ishida regretted that he couldn't just sit there and focus on how _wonderful _it felt instead of being distracted by all that bile and pain.

A few moments later a concerned Ichigo asked, "Was that all of it?"

Ishida nodded and closed his eyes, lest the sight of the bucket's glorious contents made him throw up all over again. He must have looked pitiful enough because Ichigo braved his volatile temper and leaned forward to carefully wipe his mouth for him. The archer cringed a little at the gesture, but he didn't back away.

He became aware of the 'present' he left on Ichigo's top again when he moved back to dispose of the tissue.

"Oh god. Shit. Your shirt. I'm so sorry-

Ichigo placed the bucket out of sight and looked at him with a brief moment of incomprehension.

"What- oh, you mean this? Don't worry about it. Better a crummy old shirt than the futon or the carpet, right?"

He wiped off what he could of the muck with a tissue and then-

_Oh my._

He pulled the top back-over-head off himself and bunched it into a ball, discarding it in a plastic bag.

"See? No harm done."

The shinigami shot him a cocky grin that went straight to his- well, his cock.

Ishida's eyes popped slightly at the up-close display of gorgeous skin and flesh, and it didn't help when Ichigo leaned across his lap to reach for the jug on the coffee table. The rich and spicy scent of the young man hit him in a brain-numbing wave, warm and sweet and making his blood boil. It seemed surreal enough that if he reached out to touch all that bared skin, it might just vanish.

"Here, drink this." Ichigo said gently, handing him a cup of water. "Is it too hot? I'll turn on the fan or something-

He had obviously mistaken his flush for something else and Ishida slowly shook his head, mindful of his headache. He took the cup with a mumbled thanks and rinsed his mouth as best as he could before gulping down the rest.

"There, slowly," Ichigo said in a hush like a nursing mother whilst he poured him another.

_If we were better friends he would be rubbing my back now_, thought Ishida with some bitterness. _And if we were even _better _friends, hell, he'd be rocking me in his lap._

He just _had _to be so goddamn nice to him when he least expected it.

"I know you want to get cleaned up, but Keigo's suffering in the kitchen and the girls have taken up the bathroom," the boy explained. "Rukia threw up all over herself, it was a sight to behold. You'd just have to make do with this at the moment."

Ishida took the two slabs of extra strong gum he handed him with some scepticism and chewed away.

"Why are you here?" he asked warily, not caring that he sounded like an ungrateful twit because it was just easier to talk to him this way.

Ichigo frowned and said, "Why? Looking after you, that's what."

"Because _someone _has to do it, right?" the raven sighed. "Anyway, I could've handled it myself."

"Don't bullshit me, you can't even stand by yourself," he growled. "You're just saying that crap like you always do. Is there something _wrong _with that someone being me?"

"_Yes_, I'm saying that crap like I always do because it makes life easier, and yes, there _is _something wrong with that someone being you," Ishida snapped, intending to leave it at that despite the words coming out with less-than-satisfactory connotations.

He must have dug his own grave because Ichigo suddenly looked more intrigue than angry, and he crossed his arms saying," alright, then let's hear it once and for all. Why can't it be me?"

The connotations of _that_ left them both flushing profoundly, and Ishida flinched away from Ichigo's embarrassed but unwavering gaze.

"I hate you," he asserted.

"I've heard enough of your _I hate you's_ to know that it means 'I don't want to answer the question'," Ichigo argued. "At any rate, that's what we confirmed last night-

_Oh fuck. So that _wasn't _a dream._

"Alright!" he cut in indignantly, "before we go on any further you will _not _put any words in my mouth, because I was dead drunk!"

"What! Now you're just gonna use that excuse to deny _everything_?"

Ishida winced and said, "Geez, Kurosaki… don't shout."

His face fell a little. "Oh, sorry."

"Anyway, I'm not denying everything… I'm just saying, don't try to make stuff up."

"Fine. You said that asking if you hated me was a stupid question. That _is_ what you said."

Ishida said slowly, "did I now?"

"Yes, and you also said, you don't want me to hate you."

"… _really_?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Yes, _really._ Now what does _that_ all mean?"

The quincy tried for a sarcastic, "should I get a dictionary?"

He apparently didn't fall for it and only glared at him expectantly.

Ishida ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "_Why_ are you so desperate that you're taking the words of a drunk seriously?"

The shinigami paused for an uncomfortable five seconds before he replied, "because I want to know how you feel about me."

It sounded so much like a confession that Ishida had to turn and stare.

"I… I feel like you're annoying, persistent and idiotic! I'm pretty sure you _know_ that-

"I like you," Ichigo interrupted flatly. "_That's _what I meant."

The raven gawked.

"_What_?"

"_I like you_," he repeated half-defensively with a delightful flush staining his cheeks. "Should I get you that dictionary you're so fond of? Should I write it _down _for you?"

"... you're not serious."

"No, it's all a big set up, it's been taped down in secret and it's going to go on youtube, _of course _I'm serious, you doofus!"

Ichigo lowered his voice again, his face darkening. "I wasn't planning on ever telling you, but stupidly, I got my hopes up last night because of what you said to me. So I don't really care –if you want to call me a freak and pretend I don't exist from now on, go ahead. I like you. I'll say it all over again –a _thousand _times –but it wouldn't be any less true than the first time."

Ishida swallowed and looked down at his hands that were suddenly shaking. His heart was quite literally feeling like it was in his throat and his head pounded with a different kind of pain –a sweet, faint kind of hurt that powdered his pale skin with salmon pink. They had gone from a war of words abruptly into another form of surrender: Ichigo, who he hated to love and loved to hate, had handed his heart to his hands without even protecting it with a double-lock chest or even a velvet cushion. It was just _there_, bare and bright, encapsulating Ichigo in its simultaneous power and defenselessness. He could take it or leave it or _trample_ it, but Ishida could not think of anything crueler than doing _any _of the three.

So he finally found his voice, shaky as it was, and turned to face him.

"I was honest about what I said last night. I meant that I feel the same way. That I like you."

Ishida froze as he watched Ichigo take in the words, his eyes widening into orbs of dumbfounded burnt-sienna before his face split into a wide, mesmerizing grin. A split second of sickness twisted like rope in Ishida's stomach when he thought that it _might _just be a big, merciless joke –but Ichigo leapt forward and wrapped his strong arms tight around him, banishing the cold nausea with comforting, palpating heat. The shinigami pulled back after a while to closely regard him, and Ishida had the stupid thought that he needed a lifeboat because he was suddenly drowning in pools of rich chocolate.

"_Tell _me that this isn't a dream, because I'm pretty sure that we're both still drunk," Ichigo said in a hush, pressing his forehead against the quincy's.

Ishida was embarrassed as hell, but he couldn't believe how _right _it also felt –that had to be unreal, somehow.

"It's as real as my splitting headache," he whispered back, wanting, but afraid to disturb that minutest of space between them.

"As real as this?"

Ichigo slowly, cautiously, angled his head and pressed his lips against Ishida's in the softest, slightest of kisses. He felt himself going numb with red hot electricity –like standing in the perimeters of his terrifying, explosive reiatsu but being held by him at the same time. It was more like a question than a kiss, and Ishida didn't have time to think about how _good _his lips felt before Ichigo quickly pulled back, looking uncertainly inquisitive.

"That... That was pretty real," Ishida confirmed weakly. "Yeah. Wow."

"_Wow._" Ichigo agreed in a hush. "_Please_ let me do that again."

The archer edged away with a slight squeak when the other boy dove in for a second taste.

"Oh no. Wait! I just woke up, vomited all over you, and on top of tasting like something just died in there I even got gum in my mouth! That is _not _a good idea!"

"Well, I don't have a problem with it if you don't have a problem with mine," Ichigo grinned.

"You're not the one who tastes like vomit and stale beer," Ishida reminded him.

"Don't care-

He backed off a little more, crying "Gum in my mouth-

"Spit it out or swallow it, no more talking!"

The redhead barely gave him sufficient time to opt for the latter option before his lips were passionately sealed by another pair. Ichigo guided him back onto the bed, his hand cradling his head while he climbed over him, pinning him down with his mere presence as a predator would pin down its prey. Although they both tasted a bit stale, Ishida couldn't care less because the explosion of Ichigo's flavour on his tastebuds was leaving him numb with pleasure. The tip of the shinigami's tongue traced the gap between his lips, making him gasp –and Ichigo slipped into the space, his tongue probing and stroking his teeth, his gums and the roof of his mouth. It should have been gross and weird but it really _wasn't_, and the archer wondered what had happened to his sense of rationality and dental hygiene as his body developed a mind of its own, eager to match pace with the enthusiastic redhead above him. A few moments ago they had been wrestling with words as they always did –and now they were wrestling with their mouths, quite literally, for an entirely different purpose, the anticipation of which lit a steadily strengthening fire in his lower belly.

Suddenly Ichigo was pulling away again, beautifully flushed and breathless.

"Sorry. Was that too fast? Did I freak you out?"

Ishida stared at him for a few seconds, his brain trying to un-mush itself so that he could talk properly.

"What?" he scoffed, "what do you think I am? A vestal virgin?"

The other teenager looked like he was going to laugh, but he bit down on his lip and smirked instead.

"Well, judging from last night a vestal virgin you certainly _aren't_."

Ishida's eyes widened in shocked mortification.

"Last night? You're so making that up! What did I do?"

He only shrugged. "I'm not. "

"You're lying!"

"I'm not! Go ask Chad and Mizuiro, they saw it!" The words came out before he could stop them, and Ichigo paled, hoping that the raven would be too tired to try to bite his head off.

Ishida's mouth dropped –there were _other _people watching him?

"Why didn't anyone _stop _me?"

"I did, and so did Chad –I swear," Ichigo said quickly, using the opportunity to get back at the angel-faced demon, "but it was Mizuiro who put the idea in your head, blame him."

The raven narrowed his eyes: he _did _sort of remember Mizuiro whispering things into his ear…

"Seriously though, what did I do!'

Ichigo smiled and nudged his nose with his own, and successfully distracted the thoroughly annoyed archer by running his finger purposefully down the row of buttons of his shirt.

"Perhaps at a later stage, we'll get a chance to refresh your memory, but for now…"

And that was that. The shinigami happily occupied his mouth again, intertwining their tongues in an unrehearsed but no less fiery tango. Ishida tipped his head back as Ichigo traced his lips up his jaw line, finding the pulse point beneath his ear and kissing it with a sinfully hot tongue. Ishida gasped and Ichigo growled back, an exchange of the sounds of surprised pleasure that swiftly turned the play from a _scherzando_ _piano _to an _agitato forte._ The quincy said he wasn't a vestal virgin and Ichigo really took his word for it, scraping teeth and tongue down his neck and across his collarbone, sliding away his shirt with a subtle efficiency that left Ishida wondering if he was just too drunk with bliss to notice that he had been unbuttoning it, or if Ichigo was just good with his hands.

Ichigo pulled back to stop and stare once he was done with the article of clothing, the dilation of his pupils telling the archer that he liked what he saw. Embarrassment had long been replaced by need, and Ishida shifted to pull the shirt off his shoulders, discarding it to the side. He lifted a hand to cup the back of the other boy's head, combing his fingers through that unruly mandarin hair and watching Ichigo's eyelids flutter with a mixture of tenderness and arousal. He was the one to close the gap this time, pulling Ichigo down for another bruising kiss and eliciting a sound that said he had been caught pleasantly unaware. His hands met hot, smooth skin, and yes, Ichigo was as real as the thrilled elation pulsing through his veins, his body responding in shivers and soft moans to his shyly inquisitive touch. The hot mouth at the hollow of his throat issued an electrifying, primal noise when Ishida's slight fingers boldly found a nipple and _tweaked._

"_I'll lose it_," Ichigo warned in a hoarse whisper that made him tremble.

"I want you," he whispered back fiercely.

He heard Ichigo exhale slowly before he droppedhis weight onto him, hot, heavy, solid, and _oh so good._ Chest to chest, they both breathed in sharply as their bodies lined up, the hardness between their legs meeting one another with a duo cry of 'finally' within the confines of denim and cotton.

Ishida wrapped his arms around the broad tan back, his legs curling over Ichigo's.

"We could stay like this all day," the strawberry chuckled. It turned into a groan when the archer expressed his disapproval by rocking his hips experimentally, the friction stunning enough to make them both see white.

"_Not_ a vestal virgin," Ichigo whispered with a smirk, attempting humour despite the _very _serious glaze of lust in his eyes.

Ishida scoffed. "No more vestal virgin jokes."

Ichigo 'hmmed' and kissed him long and deep, and then he angled his lips and _grinded_ –

"Hey Ichi-

The duo froze and whipped around to see the grand schemer paused at the doorway with an armful of towels, looking mildly surprised.

"I was going to say, the bathroom is free," Mizuiro casually continued when neither responded to the intrusion, "but carry on, sorry I interrupted."

Ishida gaped while Ichigo glared at the beginnings of a pleased grin on the other raven's face that he had _no_ right to be wearing. The moment was quite thoroughly ruined and he probably needed a shower anyway, so he let the seething shinigami help him onto his feet.

He winced slightly as Mizuiro grabbed the bucket of vomit and Ichigo's soiled shirt. The shorter boy only smiled kindly and said, "I'll go wash these out in the backyard. Seriously, I've dealt with these things a thousand times so there's no need to be embarrassed. How're you feeling?"

"Hung over and sick, thanks to you," Ichigo growled. "You and your matchmaking-

"Match making?" Ishida interrupted sharply.

"I wasn't asking you now, was I Ichigo?" Mizuiro said sweetly, smoothly directing the conversation away from his foxy deeds of last night. "Now, go along and get cleaned up."

"You are _so_ dead when I get back to you, Mizuiro!" the redhead hissed as they were ushered out of the room.

Confused as he was, Ishida couldn't help but laugh at the brilliant flush on Ichigo's face when Mizuiro replied loudly,

"You're _welcome_, Ichigo!"

* * *

><p>"I can't <em>believe<em> that Mizuiro set us up," Ishida suddenly says. He only realises that he had said the words aloud when Ichigo turns away from the bright white moon to stare at him incredulously.

"What?" Ishida snaps, flushing at his partner's gaze.

"I was thinking about _exactly_ the same thing," Ichigo replies in awe, the fist at his chin dropping to his lap. "That's romantic, isn't it?"

Ishida rolls his eyes. "How is being set up to get dead drunk romantic? And you still haven't told me what happened!"

Warm yellow light dances over Ichigo's features as an early morning train whizzes past like an oversized glow worm, highlighting the twinkle of bemusement in his umber eyes.

"You ran down the streets naked," he smiles.

"You're obviously lying."

"You sang the national anthem to a stranger on the phone."

"I don't believe you."

"You put on a dress."

"Lies."

Ichigo stops for a moment and cradles his chin in his palm again, his eyes softening.

"You told me you loved me."

Ishida blinks at him, his face reddening at the quiet, unabashed and utterly sincere words.

"Really?"

Ichigo grins and says, "no, not really. I wish you did, though."

The quincy growls and thumps him on the shoulder.

"Jerk."

"Seriously, though. When you were drunk and hung over, you seemed to be happier with us being together than you usually are." He says the words lightly, but Ishida can hear the hurt and his chest clenches in guilt.

"I just don't want to get used to the idea too quickly," he mumbles.

"What?"

"I mean, it feels too good to be true."

The words sink in eventually and Ichigo's gape closes into a bright grin that makes his heart lose a beat. He has no time to object when the shinigami leans in to plant a searing kiss on his lips.

"It's cute how you speak in riddles, but it's hard for me to decipher them," Ichigo says softly against his mouth.

"Says something about your intellect, doesn't it?" Ishida can't help but quips.

"Being in love makes my brain slow," he retaliates sweetly in a fashion that he knows Ishida can't stand (but secretly likes).

Like the night lights that are reflected in Ichigo's eyes, his words and actions reflect his heart in all honesty, with no shame, as if he somehow knows that it is all Ishida really needs. It is clumsy, it is awkward and embarrassing, but like how all couples have their rituals this seems to be theirs: pulling and pushing, confronting and avoiding, going back and forth until they find some sort of middle ground.

Ishida hopes that _they _will find their middle ground someday, before Ichigo gets tired of his unbreakable habits of hide and seek. And yet, like the stationary white orb and those sentimental, twinkling things hidden behind the clouds, he knows that Ichigo will wait for him with the goddamn patience of waiting for a vestal virgin.

**The end**

* * *

><p>AN: Finally –I've –finished! Ahh!


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